


Life Isn't Fair

by 1780AWintersBall



Series: One Chapter, One Story [1]
Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Mostly historically accurate, Song references, This was hard XD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1780AWintersBall/pseuds/1780AWintersBall
Summary: Alexander Hamilton's life as depicted in a fan fiction.It is missing the Federalist Papers and a bunch of crazy other things, but it gets some of the important parts.





	Life Isn't Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I can't write short stories! XD Woof, better luck next time!

It had been a long day.

  Alexander got back to his home, his brother, James, waiting for him outside.

  “Where ya been?” he asked, looking very annoyed. “For someone so sick, you’re working like a warhorse.”

  “Gotta pay my due,” mumbled Alexander, handing James his cut of that day’s pay.

  Alexander Hamilton and James Hamilton were illegitimate sons to Rachel Faucette Buck and James A. Hamilton.

  Their father had left their mother quickly after they had moved to St. Croix, so Rachel had started a business, putting Alexander and James as employees. They stabilized as a business, and Alexander then went to work for their suppliers, Beckman and Cruger, while James stayed with their mother. Unfortunately, after a while, Alexander fell ill, and brought it back home.

  Their mother caught what Alexander had, though James stayed untouched, and this illness was the type of sickness that stayed until it took a victim. Alexander and Rachel were running against the clock.

  Alexander wouldn’t back down, however, and kept working, refusing to become a deadweight, even at the young age of 11. James had tried to convince him to take a break, but he refused, and after a while, James gave up.

  James let Alexander into the house, his demeanour softening when coughs wracked Alexander to his knees.

  “Hey, little bro, let’s get you to bed.”

  James helped Alexander up, who was still coughing and gasping for breath. He led the sick boy to the only bedroom in their house, where their mother was resting on the bed, and guided him gently beside her.

  Alexander tried to get up, tried to say, “I’m fine,” but his body failed him.

  Laying on his side, he felt two warm arms start to wrap around him as his breathing evened out.

  “Oh, mon fils, I wish I could make you magically better. I hate to see you so out of it, Alexander,” mumbled his mother, as Rachel did her best to stop his shivering.

  “Maman, I’m fine, I promise,” Alexander responded, his voice but a whisper, “je t'aime, maman.”

  “I love you so too, mon amour.”

  Alexander felt a small, happy smile creep onto his face. His mother was one of the reasons he kept pushing, kept going, and he needed to prove that she wasn’t raising just another kid on the street. He was going to become someone important, for her, to make her better.

  “Maman,” mumbled Alexander, as her grip on him loosened, “I want you to know, you’re so important to me.”

  “And you to me,” said Rachel, her breath starting to hitch as she struggled to stay with her little boy.

  Her fighting was for naught, however, and soon, Alexander realised his mother wasn’t holding him anymore, just resting her arms on him.

  “Maman,” giggled Alexander, which resulted in a coughing fit.

  “Mère,” he tried again.

  He didn’t get a response, so he turned around to look at his mother, and let out a deafening scream, which broke into sobbing and coughing.

  James rushed into the room, to Alexander gripping their mother with all his might, getting tears everywhere. He started trying to get Alexander away from the body, his own tears starting to come to his eyes, but Alexander refused to let go.

  “Non! Non! She can’t be gone! Not now!” screamed Alexander.

  “Alex, let go! You can’t help her now, lâcher!”

  Eventually, James rushed out to get help, calling for the doctors and for the funeral services. Rachel Faucette was taken away, away from the crying mess that was Alexander Hamilton.

  The two boys were disowned by their father, whom came back, and were pushed out of their home to their cousin, Peter Lytton, as poor as could be. Alexander had since then overcome the sickness that had plagued their home, and he prayed that their father and half-brother caught it.

  “James,” said Alexander one night, while waiting for the lights to go off downstairs, as a signal that their cousin was going to bed, “why are we so hated by God? What did we do? Why is he so angry at us?”

  James looked down at his little brother, his eyes sorrowful.

  “To be honest with you, Alex… I don’t know.”

  It was the first time James had ever admitted to Alexander that he didn’t know something. That confession hurt worse than any hope could have healed.

  It finally became so late that the brothers decided to check on their cousin. They’d loved him, and thanked him so much for taking care of them. Alexander, by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, even decided that he’d sneak attack Lytton with a hug from behind and a whispered “I love you”.

  But the plan never came into action, as the two boys were met with the horrifying sight of Lytton hanging from his neck by a rope tied to the ceiling.

  Once again, Alexander ripped the silence of the house with a scream, running to the body and squeezing it with all his might. Had James not been there, Alexander would have stayed there all night, crying into his dead cousin’s work attire.

  James and Alexander had nowhere to go. They were all alone. Alexander had started to cry himself to sleep way more often, and James started becoming more distant. But then, Alexander changed.

  He moved out and away from James, into a friend’s home, still working for Beckman and Cruger, and became tougher. He worked his way up, he worked his way out. He resolved that he would never again be broken down by death and famine. He was stronger than that, and he could prove it.

  He soon took over the firm, being able to compute and work much more better than all of his seniors, and was dealing with cargo, finance and vendors before he was even 15.

  Alexander started buying books to read in the little leisure time he had while running the company. He didn’t have the time to go to school, but he started a self-taught curriculum on reading and other things that his friend, Edward Stevens, told him he was learning in one of the British colonies of America. Any free time he got he spent studying or sleeping, and occasionally eating.

  He soon got the attention of anyone who could see him, and he impressed upon everyone that he needed a better education. He was truly eager to learn, and he was already very promising.

  A hurricane hit when he was 15-16, and devastated everything around him. He developed a fear of storms that he never shook, even with friends pressant. He started writing his way out, and soon got the attention of a group of older, rich men, who hadn’t seen the horror of a hurricane, only read the fantastical pieces of writers.

  Alexander did his best to show what he had seen, and the older group seemed impressed. They started a fund, putting in a lot of their own money, and sent him to get a better education in the Thirteen Colonies.

  Finally, Alexander had gotten out, gotten away from the hellhole that was Charlestown, Nevis, and was going to New York City. He dived into King’s College, and he adored the learning and education that a school like that could provide.

  After a while, though, Alexander discontinued his studies, as King’s College announced it would close its doors due to British occupation of the city.

  Finally, Alexander was 19, and he met, for the first time, Aaron Burr, just outside of a bar. He’d seen plenty of drunks and hookers dancing around it’s doors, and hadn’t wanted to mingle with them.

  After a bit of pushing and pulling, Alexander finally made it to the left side of Burr. He became unsure if it really was Burr, and the question came tumbling out of his mouth.

  “Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?”

  Burr stopped, looking at Alexander suspiciously. He looked the smaller man up and down, the said, “That depends, who’s asking?”

  Alexander seemed to light up, and soon he was talking before his mind could catch up to his words.

  “Oh, well, sure, sir! I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service, sir, I have been… looking for you!”

  “I’m getting nervous,” said Burr, taking Alexander by the arm and leading him slowly towards the bar.

  “Sir, I heard your name in Princeton, I was seeking an accelerated course of study, when I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours, I may have punched him-”

  As they walked into the bar, a glass flew past Alexander’s head, just narrowly avoiding knocking him out, and smashed against the wall. He stood, stunned into silence, staring at the glass and his close brush with death, until Burr nudged him slightly, indicating for him to continue his narrative, leading him away from the thrown glass.

  “Er, right, um… I heard your name in Princeton, I was seeking an accelerated course of study, when I got sort of out of sorts with a buddy of yours, I may have punched him, it’s a blur, sir, he handles the financials?”

  Burr gave him an odd look, the said, “You punched the bursar.”

  It wasn’t a question, and it gave Alexander pause for a second, before he plowed on.

  “Yes, I wanted to do what you did, graduate in two and join the revolution, he looked at me like I was stupid, I’m _not_ stupid! So how’d you do it, how’d you graduate so fast?”

  Burr seemed to contemplate the question for a few seconds, then looked away from Alexander. “It was my parents dying wish before they past.”

  “You’re an orphan, of course, I’m an orphan!” Alexander squealed, pausing to let Burr acknowledge this fact. But he didn’t, so Alexander continued.

  “God, I wish there was a war so we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for-!”

  Burr cut him off with a soft chuckle, then asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Alexander looked around at the drunken fools around them, then back at Burr. “Erm…”

  “Come… Hamilton, right? It’s the least I could do for dragging you in here.”

  Alexander smiled a bit, it was a kind gesture. “Uh, fine, okay, I guess you may. Thank you, Mr. Burr, you’re very kind, sir.”

  Burr returned the smile, and, while they waited for their drinks, Burr said, “Now, let me offer you some free advice. Talk less.”

  Alexander looked a Burr, studying his face with confusion. “What?”

  “Smile more.”

  Burr made a show of moving the corners of his lips up into a faked smile. Alexander gave a huffed chuckle.

  “Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for.”

  “You… you can’t be serious?” asked Alexander, looking taken aback.

  “You wanna get ahead?” Burr intoned, as if he were talking to a preschooler.

  Alexander nodded his head vigorously, almost in danger of getting brain damage from how hard he was nodding. “Yes!”

  “Fools who run their mouths oft wind up **dead**.”

  There was a silence between Burr and Alexander, the latter looking up at the former with horror while the former looked down that the latter with dead seriousness.

  Then there was a disturbance in the center of the bar that broke Alexander’s concentration, and as the two men’s drinks arrived, three men seemed to sing/scream at the top of their lungs who they were. The first one was a man by the name of John Laurens, who was ready to fight the British army. The second was a Frenchman named Lafayette, who came across the sea to fight. And the final one was Hercules Mulligan, a tailor who wanted to be more than just a tailor.

  Burr seemed to take notice of Alexander’s fascination with the three of them, and whispered to him, “Be careful with rogues like them, they’ll be the ones who get you killed.”

  The three rogues took notice of Burr, and called, from where they were, “Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton College!”

  “Aaron Burr!”

  “Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!”

  Burr hesitated for a second, looked back down at Alexander. Alexander himself had spaced off to Burr’s words, so he didn’t think adding anything to the rogues dialogue could do much damage to the small man.

  “Good luck with that,” he waved his hands vaguely, “you’re takin’ a stand, you spit, imma sit, we’ll see where we land!”

  Burr was met with a bunch of ‘boo’s, which he promptly ignored.

  “Well, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?” asked Laurens. He was cut off, however by a voice beside Burr filled with power and conviction.

  “If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”

  The entire bar seemed to silence at the words, as Burr stared down at Alexander in bewilderment. Alexander had made a promise to himself a while ago that he wouldn’t let death and famine back into his life, but he decided to add to that promise. He would never, ever let anyone treat him differently again, not rogues, not the British, not Burr.

  As Burr continued to stare, Alexander walked up to the the rogues and jumped up onto a table in front of them. He then faced the entire bar, and yelled.

  “I am not throwing away my shot! I am not throwing away my shot! Hey, yo, I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy and hungry, and I’m not throwing away my shot!”

  From that moment forward, he did exactly as he said, he didn’t throw away his shot. He pushed and pushed and pushed, he worked his way into being General George Washington’s right hand man, his aide-de-camp. He stayed loyal, and Washington made him the first Secretary of Treasury, letting him do what he did best.

  He got married during the revolution, and gave hope to the troops that thought all hope was lost. Together, he and Elizabeth Schuyler had eight children, one of which died in a duel, devastating the family.

  He fought Thomas Jefferson, he made his mark on the senate, and every time Jefferson wanted to put something down, Alexander would be right there to try and push it through anyways. During the revolution, he earned the nickname ‘the Little Lion’, and he lived up to the name even in the courtroom.

  He faced the wrath of a populous who don’t take kindly to their Secretary of Treasury taking a mistress, and the sadness and heartbreak that followed. He tried his best to mend what he had broken, but he wasn’t completely successful, not all the way. Eliza would never look at him the same way, even if she said she forgave him.

  And finally, after years of dedicating his life to push sadness and horror away, after years of making his mark and proving he could be more, he faced his old friend from the bar, Aaron Burr, on the dueling ground.

  It had been a decision of either Aaron Burr, who was in it for the power and money, or Thomas Jefferson, who wanted to unite America, for president after George Washington. Alexander had seen the error in Burr’s ways and decided that, even though Jefferson would do more harm than good to the America he and Washington tried to build, he was a better prospect than a power hungry man in the position he wanted.

  Now, as he and Burr marked the soil with ten paces before shooting, Alexander reflected.

  What was it like to be Aaron Burr? Why had he become so in need of attention and power? Was it something he’d done to him?

  Alexander shook his head on pace four. No, that was Burr’s fault, he’d made it to where he was by his own accord. That’s what Alexander had to believe.

   _What if this bullet is my legacy?_ That thought put a damper on things. At pace six, Alexander thought about his achievements and failures. _My legacy is so grand now, compared to what it would have been._ He smiled at himself, a small movement to anyone else there.

  And what about Eliza? Would he keep his promise to her? Would he make it back home to her? He doubted it. Even if he survived this duel, anyone who was friends with Burr would come after him, and he’d be taken out one way or another. _Humans are fickle beings_.

  Finally, at pace nine, Alexander saw the other side, just barely.

  John! He could see John. And his son, Philip, was on the other side! He’d died right on this same spot a few years ago, his poor some! Taken by the plague of death that followed Alexander wherever he went. Alexander could see his mother on the other side! Oh, how her smile seemed to light up a room! And then there was Washington, watching from the other side, making sure he didn’t screw this one act up. _Teach me how to say goodbye._

  Eliza would move on, he was sure of it. He would watch over her and make sure the strife and conflict that had kept Alexander himself at bay would not touch her any longer.

  Eventually, the tenth pace came, and Burr and Alexander wheeled around. Alexander aimed for the tree branch above Burr’s head, though it was hard to tell what anything was through the fog that early morning brang, and the sudden impact of a small metal bullet lodging into his ribs pushed out any breath he might have accidentally held.

  Alexander fell, while darkness ate him up, and even though he could barely see, and his entire being felt numb, he talked.

  He talked and talked and talked, about what he would have done, what he did do, and how much he loved the people in his life. He wanted to go out like no one else had, and, by his records, no one so far had died talking.

  he forgave Burr for what he did. that seemed to shock everyone. He forgave the man who murdered him, and instead cursed the invention of guns.

  Finally, the darkness that had been resting at the corners of his vision started to creep up, and, as he looked at Eliza and her sister Angelica one last time, he whispered to them, “I love you so, so much, more than you could ever believe…”

  And then he was gone.

 


End file.
